Investigative
by Le Queen of Morons
Summary: AU Ulquiorra hungers for the story of a mysterious runaway. Prompted by an idea from the Bleachness comm on LJ, and the latest closing for the Anime. ED 23
1. Chapter 1

_The year doesn't matter, nor the place_, he reflected as he stepped into the shadowy building from the rain.

_A seedy bar is still a seedy bar, regardless of when or where a man should stumble across one._

The flaming emerald of this particular man's irises starkly contradicted the cold experience with which he scanned this particular dive as the heavy door swung closed upon the rainy city night.

Three Sirens crooned their hearts out to a distracted audience from the stage at the rear. Slowly rotating lights brought voluptuous shadows to life in a sensual dance around the three women. Shrill arguing added a dissonant harmony to the smooth tones from both a pair of women at the bar and a girl at the table across the room.

The newcomer's cool gaze settled for a moment on the table.

His initial assumption about the fight from this corner had been incorrect. The blond girl hadn't been arguing with the brunette man opposite her at all – only yelling about what a _cheater_ he was. It takes two to bicker, and the guy was simply waiting it out.

Resigned brown eyes rose at feeling the scrutiny from the door way and he shared a weary look that clearly stated, "She does this ALL the time."

Easily enough, the seeker dismissed the two.

The piercing voices at the bar had stopped, thanks to the unamused tender passing out a fresh round of drinks.

The two offenders – a dusky beauty and a sharply featured black haired woman – sat huffily with their backs to each other as they nursed their drinks. Scotch on the rocks for both of them. He was willing to bet the argument truly stemmed more from their similarities than any real disagreement between the two.

Off in the remaining corner, not far from where he now stood, an intense pool match was going on. Right at the moment, a young, dark haired man was analyzing the spread of billiards lain out upon the green table before him.

The only one paying the observerany mind, however, was the curvy blonde behind the bar.

Quietly, he made his way across the empty span between door and counter.

"Looks like you've had a rough day, stranger." Her voice was deep, sultry, but held no particular interest in the goings on around them. Pale eyes drifted along his dripping ebon hair and the saturated trench flowing from his shoulders.

"No worse than most." He rested a pale hand on the smooth wood between them. "Busy night."

"No worse than most." Full lips smirked. "What's your poison?"

He ignored the flirtatious smile from the copper haired girl with the grape nehi who happened to be settled next to the sullen duo. "Just a coke."

A blond brow arched, but she still pulled him his drink. "On duty, officer?"

"I'm nothing quite that intimidating," the ghost of a smirk flickered before dying just shy of birth. Nonchalantly, he paid her plus tip, before a small pad of paper was pulled from an inner pocket, and the pen slid from the coil at the top. "I am doing a bit of research for a story though."

Casually, she grabbed a mug and started polishing. Wary attention never wavered, however. "Press? That's even worse." She paused at his noncommittal shrug before giving in to her own curiosity. "What're you researching?"

"A runaway." He'd scribbled the name of the bar on the page he'd flipped to. The first half of the notebook was already filled with his fluid handwriting – details of how he arrived at this particular point.

Light eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Wouldn't know anything about that."

"Oh?" She was lying – he was more than experienced enough to notice that simple tell in her expression – but she wasn't close enough to what he was looking for. "Who would?"

He followed her silent gaze to the pool table – more specifically to the comparatively slight man standing back to watch his tall, sharply muscled opponent take a turn.

As the expressionless man watched, the youth took stock of the layout left by the other, and Ulquiorra could tell from the flickering of sapphire eyes behind rimless glasses that he was calculating angles.

"Ya gonna just stand there and stare, Ishida, or are ya gonna shoot?" The brawny man bearing the other cue carelessly over his shoulders growled impatiently.

The smaller man glanced dryly over to his adversary and pushed his glasses further up his nose with a slender finger. "You want me to shoot, huh?" His voice was low, but supremely confident. The tone held an edge felt more than heard – like an arrow held to the back of one's neck, cocked and ready to sever the spine.

The rival snorted and swung the tapered staff in his hand off of his shoulders to rest the broad end on the floor. "I dunno about ev'ryone else, but I'm here ta play pool, not stare at yer girly face."

Thin lips smirked, and Ishida merely nodded. With an inborn grace, he again stepped up to the table, angled his stick, and struck the cue-ball with surgical precision.

The white orb shot at the solid red ball before it, which careened into two more, which then angled perfectly to set the chain reaction off needed to clear the table.

Coolly, the young man straightened, strode over to his gawking rival and shoved the cue into his chest. "Satisfied?"

Before the man could reply, the youth smoothly made his way to a nearby table and lifted his drink to his lips, sharp gaze constantly on the milling thugs.

Sure enough, the brawniest of hanger ons yelled, "Cheat!" and stalked towards the slender man.

Before his fist could advance upon Ishida's jaw, however, it was caught and held by a startlingly powerful hold. "It looked fair to me," the observer's flat promised of unspeakable violence, despite the benign words.

The punk stiffened at the icy tone and stepped back, pulling his hand free in the process.

Sapphire eyes regarded the interloper as he lowered his arm, drink lowered soundlessly to the table. A flash of vague familiarity lit within the intense depths for a moment before it was carefully veiled behind arrogant calm.

"Aw, hell." The massive man who'd lost fished a battered wallet from his pocket. As he shoved a couple of bills into the victor's chest, he growled, "Take yer damn money an' get outa here."

One by one, the disgruntled posse members did the same, and the younger politely thanked each in turn, much to varying levels of chagrin.

Neatly, the pool shark folded the small stack of bills and tucked it away before acknowledging the silent man standing to the side. "Thank you." He said simply, and shrugged an impeccably tailored overcoat on.

Before the brunette could pass him by, the pale man's hand landed squarely upon his shoulder. "Do you mind if I ask a few questions?"

Bright blue eyes narrowed. "As a matter of fact, I do." Easily, he shook the touch off. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment I need to keep."

Again, Ulquiorra captured his movement by wrapping long fingers around a surprisingly toned bicep. "If you change your mind," he shoved a business card into the graceful palm reaching up to remove the offending appendage. "Contact me."

The youth smirked. "Right." With that, he again brushed the contact away and strode to the exit.

Impartial green eyes tracked the young man as he slipped past. He had the feeling this one knew exactly what he needed. Silently, he followed Ishida and skillfully blended into the dripping night as soon as he breached the door.

* * *

**This would be my first (and probably only) attempt at AU fanfiction. This is prompted from nehalenia's idea on Bleachness from LJ. Depending on what kind of feedback I get, I may continue...I do have the storyline in my head, at least.**


	2. Chapter 2

The young man turned the collar of his jacket up against the cold damp of the night air and turned a dark corner. The majority of his attention focused on his surroundings, as only a fool would wander these streets after sunset without due vigilance.

The mob, with its elderly don, and street gangs, lead by a brutal blue-haired man not much older than Ishida himself, where constantly battling to lay claim to this particular turf. The cops were no better. If one somehow insulted the crooked chief detective, they had better start sleeping with one eye open. This sapphire eyed man steered clear of the whole lot of them as best he could. Pool-sharking in his spare time was one thing, but street politicking was something best left untouched in his book.

His thoughts where not on the inner workings of the dangerous world he's lived in for the better part of seven years, however. The confrontation in the bar had left a sour taste in his mouth, and a blade lodged deeply in his aching heart. He had the feeling he knew the unexpected stranger when he first saw him, and a single glance at the card later thrust into his hand had confirmed Uryuu's suspicions .

Ulquiorra Cifer – muckraker extraordinaire, unveiler of corruption, destroyer of families.

Uryuu knew these facts intimately. It had happened to the Ishidas when he was but an innocent boy.

His father had owned a number of hospitals throughout the metro, one of which happened to be headed by a man more concerned with his pocketbook than the care of his patients. The administrator had been heading that hospital for close to five years before Ryuuken had finally been made aware of the funds mysteriously disappearing from equipment maintenance and employee salary. Before the owner could do anything about it, Ulquiorra's scathing article had been published in one of the most popular periodicals in the country.

From there, the small family had been faced with a bombardment of media vultures, lawyers and death threats. Even the strongest clan would have strained under the sudden burden, but there had already been deep divides between generations. The added pressure only tore those fissures wider.

Uryuu had been sent to live with his grandfather for the worst of it, but when he returned, he found his mother had become nothing more than a shell of herself and his father a cold, walled off modicum of a man.

His grandfather had succumbed to cancer barely a year after the boy's return, and not long after, his mother had taken her own life. Ryuuken withdrew even further into the world of his career, leaving his young son to suffer the losses alone. Unable to stand an empty house full of empty hearts any longer, Uryuu had fled to the cold, hard streets as soon as he hit his teen years.

At the time, he didn't know which hurt worse – the loss of his broken family or the fact that his uncaring father couldn't be bothered to even look up at his only son when the teen had said goodbye.

The youth scowled darkly as he pushed the door to the gym he was bound for open. Silently, he cursed the reporter for showing up and reawakening memories best left asleep. He would be damned if he let that bastard do the same thing to another family.

The musky scent of sweat underscored by a subtle tang of blood washed over him as he entered the open room. Free weights rested in their racks to his far right, while a punching bag hung idly not far to his left. Dim light filtered from the narrow, grimy windows topping the dull walls, and a couple of rickety ceiling fans circulated the dank air. The wet thud of boxing gloves impacting with flesh assaulted his ears.

He automatically grabbed a couple of clean towels and held them under an arm as he patiently watched the match between giants taking place on the elevated ring in the middle of the chamber. Yasutora Sado – better known as El Tigre in the circuit, and Chad to his friends – was facing off against a sober dark man Ishida only vaguely recognized. What was his name again? Leroux? Lack of familiarity did nothing to lessen the instinctive wince when Chad's massive fist landed squarely on the broad jaw.

_Ouch._

Predictably enough, the boxer went down with a resounding thud – droplets of red from a split lip spattering the mat where he landed. Muzzily, he shook his head, sat up and accepted a hand up from his sparring partner once they both removed their gloves.

Ishida approached the ring then and handed up the towels. "You ok?" He enquired of the stranger.

The man simply nodded as he wiped sweat from his face and neck. "Of course. Thank you," he rumbled. When Leroux glanced back at Chad, Ishida could already see a massive bruise forming. "Same time next week?"

Stoically, Ishida's friend nodded before slipping between the ropes and hopping down by the smaller man. "Hey."

Uryuu slipped his hands into his pockets. "Hey. Hungry?"

Calm earthy eyes regarded him from beneath an unruly shock of brown hair. The fighter ran the towel over his broad chest and arms. "You buying?"

Thin lips curved in a wry smirk, but the shorter man still nodded. "Sure."

"Sounds good." Sado draped the towel over his shoulder. "I'll get changed."

Unaware of the observant shadow trailing them from a safe distance, the two made their way from the gym to a tiny café only blocks away about half an hour later.

A small but genuine smile lit up Ishida's face upon discovering the doe-eyed beauty from the stage already waiting for them. He breathed in her intoxicatingly sweet scent when she joyfully threw her arms around him in greeting. His lips found hers in a warm, welcoming kiss. Somehow, she had a way of filling all of the emptiness left when life tore such huge pieces of his heart from his very being.

Chad grinned with quiet fondness at the display, then gently returned her affectionate embrace after the two lovers had parted. Who wouldn't be cheered in the presence of the irrepressible Orihime?

None of them noticed the solitary figure slip in and claim a table within earshot.

Comfortable in their routine, the three settled in their usual booth. Once drinks were ordered – coffee for Uryuu, who still had a surplus of work to finish for his daytime tailoring job, milk for Chad and a strawberry shake for Orihime – the bespectacled young man lent forward and rested his forearms on the table. "Have any of you seen Renji around lately?"

Orihime shook her head with a delightful smile, but Chad nodded. "He was hustling the crowd outside the gym earlier."

By 'hustling', of course, Uryuu knew he was doing the slight of hand the skater'd grown so good at. The youth prided himself on his practicality, but even he found himself impressed when their flamboyantly charming friend tested some of his tricks on them.

"Good. If you see him before I do, pass the warning on." He paused when the waitress approached – a lively brunette who never tired of persuading her prettier customers to switch teams.

She set their orders down and before she could do more than cast Orihime a hungry look, Ishida dryly commented, "I think we need a few more minutes." He leaned back and slipped an arm around the buxom girl's shoulders meaningfully.

With a quick glare, the young woman tugged her apron straight, and relented with a faux cheerful, "Alright. I'll be back for your orders in a little bit, then."

Once she retreated, the lovely lady at his side gently prodded the dour young man with an elbow. "What warning?" She asked in a stage whisper, eyes wide with curiosity.

Uryuu sighed and caught her hand in his, then laced their fingers together, his other cupped around the warm mug before him. His smooth voice was quiet and sober when he again spoke. "The man who," _ruined my life_, "almost put my father away is snooping around here."

The boxer frowned as he leaned back and rested a muscular arm along the back of the bench-seat. "What does he want?"

Ishida blew out a breath. "I don't know for certain." Warm, dark liquid caressed his tongue when he sipped at his beverage and furrowed his brows. "I refused to talk to him, but if he's snooping around our group, then there's only one person he wants to find."

Terse silence fell over the table.

"You mean," the singer began, lovely, changeable eyes fixated upon her sharp featured lover.

"Yes," the tailor answered softly before she could finish the question.

A delicate gaze settled on her pink milkshake, and a graceful fingertip traced a line down the condensation gathered upon the thick glass. "We have to protect them," she murmured. "They deserve to be happy."

Uryuu smiled sadly and squeezed her hand as he watched the finger playing with water. "Yes, they do."

Chad sipped his milk as he watched the two. "It's still possible for them." The cup was set on the table by a strong, but gentle hand. "I'll let Renji know if I see him."

Ishida favored him with an exceptionally rare, full on smile. "Thanks, Chad." For the first time that night, he found himself grateful for the strange turns his short life had taken. If not for those events, he would never have been lucky enough to find his new, mismatched family. Without giving voice to his words, he only lifted his princess's hand and pressed his lips to the downy skin on the back of it.

* * *

**Poor Uryuu's been delt quite the rough hand, hasn't he?**


	3. Chapter 3

Under a brilliant blue sky obscured by towers of glass and concrete, tourists milled along the sidewalks of the city. Children darted underfoot before the calls of frazzled parents, and residents of the town plied their trades.

Sunlight brought the river of activity to life all around Ulquiorra as he calmly strode down the sidewalk. It had only taken a few questions to the overly friendly waitress working at the café he'd planted himself to the identity of this 'Renji' young Ishida had spoken of. He could tell easily enough that the sharp young man had irritated the young woman; so of course, her tongue was a little looser than it may have been, otherwise.

Further, she had mentioned two others who would occasionally join the regular group of four. When he'd inquired further, however, her lively eyes widened slightly and she rushed on to take his order. For the rest of his meal, she only returned once to see if he needed anything else, before dropping the check on his table, and rushing off to the kitchen, as if afraid of letting anything else slip.

Instead of pressing further, he simply took this as evidence that he was on the right trail, and gladly followed up on the information she had given him. While he could not obtain the names of the duo she spoke of, he was able to learn one was a male full of intensity, one was female filled with regal strength. Both were too young for rigors of adulthood, but too old for the play of childhood. While the boy was of little interest, the mysterious dark-haired girl sounded just like who he was looking for.

It took even less effort to ascertain the last name of the street denizen he now hunted.

True to the brunette's words, Abarai was indeed very easy to spot. Vibrant red hair stood out boldly in its bunch at the back of a strong, tattooed neck. The bright blue bandanna and clothing did little to help him blend into the crowd. It did, however, strike the collected man as odd that this obviously flamboyant man would conceal what looked like equally flashy tattoos the way he did. In his experience, most men brave enough to attack fashion and have their own questionable tastes win were more apt to show off their body art than hide it under gaudy fabric.

The reporter paused a few steps behind the small knot of people partially blocking foot-traffic, and observed the scene with a critical eye.

"Keep your eyes on the lady," a rakish grin captured the attention of women and some men alike. Long fingered hands, tempting in their strength and skill, shuffled three cards over a pitted and scarred folding table which stood between the rangy red-head and the blushing blond woman who tracked the cards with deep blue eyes.

Ulquiorra had seen this particular set up many times and was not particularly surprised when more money went to the red-head than to the tourists.

It always started with a small group plying their luck against the fascinating skater. From there, women were lured by his edgy smile, rangy physique and teasing peeks of tattoos, while a number of men were lured by the women, then sucked in by the skater's distinctive charisma. They were all soothed on the instinctive level when they saw people just like them already playing, and winning.

Of course, what the vacationers didn't know was that the original group were already friends of the dealer, and as soon as a large enough crowd gathered, the sweet faced, dark-haired boy would fade into the background to employ his light-fingered skill on unwary people carrying just a little too much cash for their own good.

His brown-haired cohort, a boisterous young man with an open, infectious smile, helped keep attention on the game with the help of a striking, chocolate skinned woman. She tugged at the back of his memory until he realized she had been on the stage of the bar where he had first picked up this particular lead.

It was a startlingly well run little operation, based off of an age old technique, but colored with the group's unique hue. It was one that simply begged to be broken.

Those thoughts in mind, the silent reporter joined the edge of the small crowd. He caught the dealer's eyes flickering to him, but simply allowed the brief, suspicious gaze to pass.

"Aw," the red-head intoned when the blond girl chose an ace instead of the queen. In a flash, the twenty she'd lain down was gone, and a long-fingered hand came up to brush distractingly against the blushing cheek. "Better luck next time." The low voice had taken a deeper, seductive lilt to it.

Ulquiorra managed not to roll his eyes at the ripple of giggles that voice brought on from the girl's friends.

"Might I try my luck?" his low, confident voice rose over the tittering females. Smoothly, he stepped forward – away from ghostly fingers probing his jacket pocket.

Narrowed eyes flickered over to him. There was the barest flash of distrust before it was replaced with the former cheerfully challenging guise. "Sure! Anyone can give it a shot. Wager is twenty dollars."

The odd man out took the girl's vacated place and mutely set a fifty down on the table.

The barest hint of tension tightened the dealer's jaw as he matched it with two twenties and a ten without argument.

Sometimes money trumped instinct. The pale man knew he didn't fit the profile his fellow players did, but he also knew that the only way to make street life a little less unbearable was through the powerful dollar.

That strain drained quickly from sharp features, and again the smile grew easy. "You know how the game works, right?" Renji flashed the two black aces and the Queen of Hearts. "Catch the lady, and win both shares."

Ulquiorra simply nodded.

The dealer's hands swapped cards at random. When the rapid blur of motion stopped, he spread his hands. "Now, where's the Queen?"

A slender digit pointed at the center card.

The colorful man smoothly lifted it to reveal the ace of clubs. "Too bad. Now…" That rakish smile was again flashed, but the umber eyes held a note of veiled urgency.

Before the cards could disappear after the cash, Ulquiorra quietly placed two more fifties on the table. "Once more."

Renji paused at his card gathering, and idly shuffled the three. "Are you sure?" Although the question may well have been a curse, a tattooed brow lofted at the doubled bet.

Wordlessly, the green-eyed man nodded, but captured eye contact with ruthless intent.

A deceptive smile hid the dealer's true frown as he lay out the winnings from the last round. "Your funeral." Again, strong hands blurred over the table before again coming to a stop. This time, the umber gaze was sharp with challenge. "Which card?"

The hushed crowd leaned in slightly, the pressure in the air holding them in place. Even the slender pick pocket had paused in his work to watch.

A pale finger pointed.

The ace of spades made itself apparent.

"Wrong again, pal. Sorry." Again, the money vanished as he gathered the cards. He was about to collapse the table when two one-hundred dollar bills found their way to the surface. The brightly clad man stared at the somber customer like he'd suddenly sprouted a tail and wings. "Third time's the charm, eh?"

Silence accompanied the reporter's cold nod.

Not bothering to hide the scowl this time, Renji set the winnings from the last game down on his side of the table. Four hundred dollars total - not a good amount of money to have in the open for long. For the third time, cards flashed over the worn surface before they finally came to a rest. Wordlessly, large hands spread in a bid for a card to be selected.

This time, Ulquiorra turned the card himself.

The Queen of hearts gazed soullessly into the sky.

"Tell me, Renji Abarai," pale hands pressed lightly into the table on either side of the game as Ulquiorra leaned forward – mere inches away from the startled skater. "Where is the girl?"

* * *

**Gods, Renji is fun. XD**

**Once I got past the "OMG PLOTHOLE" moments, I had a good bit of fun with this chapter. I was actually thinking about his streetrat past in cannon when I came up with the whole hustler concept, and how it would apply in this world without turning him into a straight out thug.**

**I think in this particular environment, he had to rely a little more on brains than on brawn. Though I've no doubt that he could, and does, hold his own in a fight.**


End file.
